Greg Lestrade cursed the piles of paperwork on his desk as he searched for his ringing mobile. Finally finding it beneath an open case file he picked it up only to send the file falling off the desk. "Bugger," he sighed before answering the phone. "Inspector Lestrade."
"Ah, good. Detective Inspector. I require your assistance."
Greg frowned slightly trying to place the posh voice coming over the phone. "Mycroft Holmes?"
"Yes," came the rather irritated reply. "As I said, I require your assistance. Urgently."
"What's wrong?" Greg asked already grabbing his coat and car keys. He would have to clean up his office after he dealt with whatever mess Mycroft was in.
"I'll explain everything when you get here. 221B Baker Street." The line went dead and Greg rushed outside to his car.
Greg parked in the emergency lane outside Baker Street. Mycroft had sounded almost frantic on the phone so Greg hadn't bothered to try to find proper parking. He dashed through the front door and up the stairs to John and Sherlock's flat in 221B. Mycroft was standing in the middle of the sitting room eyes frantically searching every corner of the room. He was in his waistcoat and his hair looked slightly mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it.
"Ah, good. You're here," Mycroft said throwing him a cursory glance before returning to his search of the room.
"What's wrong? What's happened?" Greg asked slightly out of breath, looking around the room for danger. As far as he could tell, he and Mycroft were the only occupants of the room. He saw nothing out of the ordinary that could have caused Mycroft's disheveled state. But Mycroft wouldn't have called him here without a good reason.
"I've lost the baby."
Greg blinked at the man in front of him. Those were the last words he'd ever thought to here leave Mycroft's mouth. "I'm sorry. What did you just say?"
"I've lost the baby!" Mycroft snapped looking at Greg disdainfully.
"The baby?" Greg repeated ignoring the disgust on Mycroft's face. "Rosie? You've lost Rosie? John's Rosie?"
"Yes! She was there," Mycroft pointed to a blanket surrounded by toys, "and then I stepped into the kitchen to take a quick phone call and when I came back she was gone. I turned my back for less than a minute and now she's gone!"
"Okay," Greg said raising his hands in front of him placatingly. Mycroft was as near to panicking as Greg has ever seen him. "Okay," he said again soothingly, trying to look at this situation like an impartial copper. "The doors we closed when I came in. Were they closed before Rosie went missing?"
Mycroft glanced around the room and said, "Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure!" he snapped. "I have an eidetic memory. Do you think I would forget something as simple as whether or not the doors were closed?"
Greg refrained from saying heightened emotions could affect one's memory. "Alright. That means she's somewhere in the flat. Unless you think someone could have come in without you noticing." The look Mycroft shot him could kill. "Right. So somewhere in the flat then. You take that side and I'll start over here."
The two men started searching the room methodically. Greg was still slightly baffled by the whole chain of events that had brought him here. He could never see Mycroft volunteering to babysit. The man seemed to barely tolerate people who could talk let alone small children who drooled everywhere. He also couldn't imagine a scenario where John Watson would think it a good idea to leave his daughter in the care of his eccentric flatmate's even more eccentric older brother. Even forgetting all of that, Greg was lost as to how someone could lose a baby in a flat this size and why said someone who claimed to be a genius couldn't find the baby on his own. Greg's curiosity demanded answers.
"How did you end up babysitting anyway?"
"I was here when Sherlock and John received an urgent phone call about one of their cases," Mycroft answered, picking up a stack of papers from Sherlock's desk as if there could be a baby hiding beneath it. "They left before I could protest."
"Figures," Greg snorted as he stood up from peering behind the sofa. He looked speculatively around the room. If he were a baby where would he go? "What about Mrs. Hudson?"
"She's gone out," Mycroft said distractedly. "Where, I couldn't say." He shot Greg a worried look. "How can you be so calm when Dr. Watson's child is missing?"
"She's probably just asleep in some little cubby hole somewhere," Greg reasoned with a shrug.
Mycroft rolled his eyes dramatically. "Or she has gotten into one of Sherlock's experiments and poisoned herself."
"Now there's no use borrowing trouble," Greg said sternly. "She's just fallen asleep somewhere. That's what babies do."
"If you say so," Mycroft replied unconvinced. He was digging through a pile of clothes on the floor. Seeing this gave Greg an idea. He scanned the room for Sherlock's dressing gown and grinned when he spotted it between Sherlock's chair and the unlit fireplace. He walked over to crouch down beside the bundle and began to chuckle.
"What is it?" Mycroft asked defensively. "Why are you laughing?" Mycroft's confusion turned to embarrassed irritation as Greg continued to laugh. "This isn't funny, Gregory! I've lost John Watson's daughter!"
"No, you haven't," Greg chuckled good-naturedly. He picked up the bundled up dressing gown to reveal a sleeping Rosie Watson inside. Mycroft's frown crumpled in relief. "I told you she was just taking a nap."
"Are you certain she hasn't been drugged?" Mycroft asked peering cautiously at the small child in Greg's arms from across the room.
"Yes," Greg huffed, smiling down at the sleeping babe. He walked over to the sofa and sat down in the middle. Mycroft watched them for a moment before tentatively lowering himself into the seat beside Greg. Greg smirked at him mischievously. "Do you want to hold her?"
Mycroft automatically flinched before composing himself into a mask of bored indifference. "You seem to be doing an adequate job. I wouldn't want to disturb either of you."
Greg grinned. He really shouldn't tease the man. Mycroft had been the Holmesian equivalent of worried sick over losing Rosie. But now that they'd found her Greg couldn't help himself. What kind of idiot couldn't find a baby in a flat this small? Besides Greg still couldn't imagine what John had been thinking leaving his daughter with Mycroft who was very clearly very uncomfortable with babies. Greg shook his head to clear those rambling thoughts and watched Rosie sleep. After a while, he felt Mycroft relax beside him and lean towards him slightly. Very deliberately not glancing at the man beside him Greg said, "No one's called me Gregory since my mum died."
Mycroft shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "My apologies. I-"
"Nah, it's alright," Greg interrupted him looking up to see Mycroft's brow furrowed in confusion. "It was just unexpected is all. But it's alright."
"I see," Mycroft lied.
Greg grinned ruefully, "I don't mind if you want to call me Gregory, Mycroft."
They sat in silence watching Rosie sleep before Greg leaned over and deftly placed Rosie into Mycroft's arms. He chuckled at Mycroft's look of terror and stood.
"I've got to get back to the Yard," he said stretching. He noticed the way Mycroft's eyes trailed down his form with interest. "I left a pile of paperwork I've got to finish by tomorrow. Rosie should sleep for a while yet. And I'm sure John and Sherlock will be back soon," he continued over Mycroft's protests. "Goodbye, Mycroft."
Resigned, Mycroft nodded. "Goodbye, Gregory. Thank you for your help with Rosie."
Greg waved and left the flat. At the bottom of the stairs, he met Sherlock and John back from wherever they'd left to in such a hurry. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.
"Gavin," he said warily. "What are you doing here? Do you have a case for us?"
"It's Greg," Greg rolled his eyes. "And no I don't have a case for you. I came to help your brother with Rosie."
"What happened?" John asked curiously.
"Well, apparently, he lost her, but not to worry," he added quickly at the twin looks of fear on John and Sherlock's faces. "We found her wrapped up in Sherlock's dressing gown fast asleep."
Sherlock's face contorted into a moue of disgust as he looked Greg up and down before storming angrily up the stairs. John watched him go with a barely contained grin until he burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"What did I say?" Greg asked cluelessly.
"Nothing," John snorted and began to follow Sherlock at a more leisurely pace. At the top of the staircase, he turned back to Greg with an odd look on his face. "It's only… We told Mycroft Sherlock's dressing gown was Rosie favorite place to sleep."
John hurried into his flat leaving Greg to stare dumbfounded at the closed door. Mycroft had known where Rosie was likely to be. Everything clicked into place. Greg had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He turned to leave but he stopped before he opened the door out into the street. He looked back up to the door of 221B and made a decision.
Greg didn't have long to wait for Mycroft to step out onto the upper landing. Mycroft's eyes widened at the sight of Greg leaning casually against the wall waiting for him. Greg smiled at him standing up straight once Mycroft joined him on the ground floor.
"I thought you would be back at New Scotland Yard by now, Detective Inspector."
"Gregory," Greg corrected. "How would you like going for a cup of coffee? With me?"
Mycroft blinked in surprise and eyed him speculatively for a moment until he seemed to find whatever it was he was looking for. "Yes, Gregory, I would like that."
A/N This is my first foray into Sherlock fanfiction. I hope the characters aren't too OOC. Reviews are always welcome!